


What Dreams May Come

by astrapoetica



Series: Fever Dreams and Hallucinations [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrapoetica/pseuds/astrapoetica
Summary: You aren't supposed to dream in cryo sleep, but once again, Bucky finds his life to be the exception rather than the rule. Part 2 of "Fever Dreams and Hallucinations."





	

She's standing on the platform when he finds her, her fire-red hair blowing out behind her as the trains pull in and out, kicking up hot air that strangles the breath of the travelers rushing around the platform. People part around her like water rushing over a rock in a stream bed, ignoring this small, still girl in their struggle to get to their destination. Through it all, she stands mute and wooden, like she’s only a statue and not a living, breathing human girl. The people rushing around her don’t notice her at all. She is only background noise to them after all and very unimportant. They take no note of her, and she returns the gesture in kind. 

She’s just a little girl after all. Perhaps she is waiting for someone: a father, a mother, grandparents, a kind-hearted uncle… Or perhaps something more sinister is at play here, right beneath the ordinary veneer of everyday life. Even though they don't realize it, the little girl is standing there awaiting a man who will transport her into a strange land, like a fairy stealing away a child in a storybook. Just like a changeling, she will never return. Or at least not the same as she once was.  He is the one who will deliver her to the Red Room, the training ground where her humanity will be left behind her forever. Where everything she ever was, ever memory she ever had of her former life, every vestige of humanity, will be stripped from her permanently. But she doesn't know that now. All she knows is that she has no other options, that every step in her life has led her here. And now she must move forward, regardless of the cost. 

It almost makes him sad, the way she stands. How small and alone she is next to those great roaring trains. But emotions are a foreign country to him now, so he simply observes the girl as he was bidden to do, making mental notes on her potential service to the great cause they all must serve.

He watches as gray smoke rises from the chimney stacks and the coal fires of the train engines, winding its way around this unknown girl like she is some sort of demonic apparition, simultaneously concealing and revealing her. The girl is clutching a stuffed rabbit to herself, and she has a backpack slung over one shoulder. Her backpack looks light, almost like it's empty. Like a prop and not something she really uses. Her clothes are dull varying shades of brown and tan, conservative and respectable. A pressed tan dress, a sweater that was once cream, knee socks, and brown saddle shoes. Her clothes are clearly well-worn but not tatty or full of holes. Respectable and unremarkable, they blend into the background with no struggle. 

But oh that sullen face, pursed lips and a face set like stone. Cat green eyes against cherry red hair. The lingering baby fat in her eight year old cheeks says she's still a child, but her eyes say that she has seen and done more than most adults have ever dreamed of. She burns bright against the steel gray backdrop of the drab train station, like a candle guttering in a burst of wind.

The Winter Soldier shakes his head, thinks to himself: _This one won't last long_.

\---

"What is the deal with you and red heads anyway?" 

Bucky jerks back to himself with a start. He could have sworn he was just somewhere else... what was he doing again? He feels dizzy and light headed, like he's struggling to breath.

"Hello there, is anyone home?"   
  
Steve waves a hand in his face, laughing. He claims he can't get drunk with this new super soldier serum he has running through his veins, but he certainly seems to have found something now, some sort of carefree spirit that he never had before. And in the middle of a war, no less. Maybe it's the result of finally having some sort of purpose in life or maybe it's just giddiness from finally being free of the constant illnesses that had dogged his younger years.

Or maybe it's just the ridiculousness of the Howling Commandos.

"Ah, leave the man alone to his fantasies," Dugan chortles, toasting Bucky with a glass full of beer. "It's healthy!" 

Dugan's orange-red beard is practically dripping with the froth of his beer, a fact which Bucky finds positively revolting. All of the men smell fairly rank, there's water rationing all over, and hygiene isn't high on their list of things to accomplish right now. Blinking he tries to come back to himself. He really could have sworn he was just somewhere else, but how is that possible? He turns back around, and there's a woman sitting there, a pretty red headed woman with tight curls. She looks back at him, waving, and the table erupts in cheers and yells. She reminds him of someone else, but he can't recall who. Her eyes are brown, but that isn't right, they should be green. Who does he know who has green eyes again?

"Go get 'er!" Dugan cries, slapping him on the back.

Bucky stands, feeling unsteady like he's on a ship at sea. He looks back at the table, at his brothers the Howling Commandos. Everything is right, everyone is in their place: Dugan, Dernier, Morita, Jones, Falsworth, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton... And Steve, always Steve. Smiling and grinning at him like he doesn't have a care in the world. Like this it, this is their place in the world, the one place where they truly have a purpose and fit in. And everything is somehow perfect, even though they're in the middle of the war to end all wars.

So why does he feel a creeping sensation like something is niggling at the back of his mind, like something is out of place, only he can't quite put his finger on it? What is it? Something out of the corner of his eye...

He turns rapidly, and the Commandos erupt with laughter. The redhead at the other table and her blonde friend chuckle politely behind their hands, turning away.

Steve stands up, putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. "Just how much have you had anyway?" he asks.

Bucky shakes his head, trying to ignore the feeling of being underwater, trying to swim up for air...

"Let's get you back to the barracks, buddy," Steve says, leading him towards the door. Bucky leans into him gratefully, resting his weight on his friend. "You can sleep it off there." 

Bucky lets himself be led out of the bar and into the darkness of the night. As he falls asleep with Steve in the cot next to him, he still can't quite shake the feeling that something isn't right. Maybe it's just his imagination.

\---

The Winter Soldier isn't used to being wrong.

"She seems to have a natural aptitude for combat."

The Madame of the Red Room watches the two girls spar, the Winter Soldier at her side. The twelve other girls in the program are gathered around them in a ring, observing impassively as the two girls weave and dodge, striking blows against each other. They're all probably just grateful that they weren't called on to fight that day. Madame B. turns to look at him, her gray eyes cold and flinty. She doesn't have a name, just as he doesn't. Names are useless contrived notions anyway. He is the Winter Soldier, and she is the Madame of the Red Room. One day if she survives, perhaps Natasha will be given the same sort of designation. He can't help but wonder what it will be.

He says nothing, but continues to watch closely. Natasha definitely is talented, adept and skilled at combat and efficient in her movements. Relentless and iron-willed too. He blinks, the image of a blond man with bright blue eyes the color of a perfect summer sky filling his vision, then suddenly gone. He blinks, hoping the Madame has not noticed his momentary lapse. These weird visions are getting stronger now, and he knows he should admit it, let his handlers figure out what's wrong with him so that they can fix it properly. But somehow he feels attached to these visions, and he's reticent to let them go. They're the only trace of humanity he has left. 

There is a sudden, sharp cry, and his vision refocuses. The blonde girl with stringy hair has managed to throw Natasha to the ground and is now wrenching her arm behind her at an impossible angle. Natasha cries out again, but muffles it quickly. The other girl's eyes gleam with a feral light as she crushes Natasha below her, using her advantage to slip her hands around her neck and start strangling her. It's abundantly clear that she is not going to stop of her own free will.

Unbidden, his eyes flicker towards the Madame, whose lips are nothing but a thin, tight line. He can see her weighing it out in her mind's eye: The lesson of weakness for the other girls versus Natasha's potential to serve their masters in the future.

Natasha's eyes are flickering shut now, the light going out from behind them as she loses consciousness.

In a flash the Madame has pulled a firearm, shooting the other girl cleanly through the head.

"Class is dismissed!" she calls out in Russian, sending them on to their next lesson in charm and etiquette.

 _From dead bodies to etiquette class._ He wants to sigh, but he remains impassive, watching the Madame crouch over Natasha, whispering words in her ear that he can vaguely make out. "Don't give into weakness. Don't make me sorry." The Madame stands, letting Natasha stumble to her feet.

The girl looks at him, most likely recognizing him as the man who once collected her from a smokey train platform and brought her here. She bobs her head respectfully at both himself and the Madame, clearly awaiting orders to go to her next class. The fingerprint marks of the girl who tried to strangle her dot her throat.

Suddenly he is looking down at her, his hands around her throat, but she is older, so much older... wearing a necklace with a diamond in it... looking up at him:

_"You could at least recognize me."_

He blinks and the moment evaporates like smoke. Madame B. is talking to him, her words cutting in like a radio that's suddenly been turned up: "Here are your new orders Soldier. You will take charge of this girl. She will accompany you on your next mission and any missions further that we deem it necessary. You will burn out and eradicate this weakness she has, this, this...  _compassion_." She spits the last word out like a swear word.

She rounds on Natasha, who does her best to not shrink away. "Your courses here are over for now, my dear little bird. It is time to fly. The Winter Soldier will take you on his next mission and you will serve him to the best of your ability. He will teach you how to master your emotions and rise above them to serve our masters. Then perhaps someday you will return to me for your graduation ceremony."

The Madame walks towards the door, leaving the two of them standing. She turns to look over her shoulder, one last lingering look. 

"Do not fail me."   
  
And then she is gone, making him wonder if the message was for him or the girl standing in front of him.

\---

A loud pulsing, beeping, and suddenly a siren breaks out. The world is nothing but darkness. He can't breath, he can't breath, he can't...

"What the hell is going on in here?!"

"He's waking up sir."

"What do you mean, waking up? He's in cryo freeze."

The two voices are loud and urgent. They are speaking Swahili, but the Winter Soldier knew Swahili, he knew so many languages... he knew a girl once a girl with red hair, but she's gone now, gone like the blond man...

"We're going to have to up the dosage."

"Sir, is that really safe?"

He remembers now, Steve had been so upset when he brought him here to cryo freeze. He had clearly been trying to hide his feelings, but it was so obvious that he didn't want to be parted from Bucky again. He didn't want to leave Steve either, but he has to do this, he has to go under again. He can't be allowed to wander free. He's a monster, he's a monster, he's a...

Blessed darkness takes him under again.

\---

"So you let them just pump you full of God-only-knows what chemicals and shove you into a box that shot radiation straight at you?"

Bucky can't help but let a note of hysteria climb into his voice. 

Steve shrugs and tries to look nonchalant, leaning back against the wall next to his cot. Normally officers sleep in their own space, but the Howling Commandos are definitely not a normal unit. They mostly stay in whatever configuration suits them, and Bucky is typically as close to Steve as possible. He pretends it's for Steve's protection, but they both know that Steve no longer needs him to protect him.   
  
Steve's trying to act like he's reading now, some sort of weird book of Russian fairy tales. He buries his face behind it, but Bucky is dogged in his pursuit of the full story of how exactly Steve came to be Captain America. 

"Steve you could have died!" 

"I'm alright, Bucky," his friend replies, and Bucky's heart lurches. What would he even be without Steve? 

He feels like all the air is being sucked out of the room as he imagines a life without Steve. They've always maintained this fictional life with Bucky in the starring role as the strong protector of the frail and weak Steve Rogers. But really Steve is the strong one. He always has been, and now Bucky is the sidekick.... now...

A gasp and a breath later, he is starring down at himself from above, hearing voices.

"Are you sure this is necessary doctor?"

"It's our last recourse before contacting T'Challa. He's struggling too much, we can't keep him safely asleep any longer, his biology is breaking down the drugs too quickly for us to administer a stronger dose."

\----

"But is it safe?"

The Winter Soldier blinks, looking over at a Hydra doctor in a white lab coat. The man is short and unremarkable, just like every other Hydra doctor Bucky has ever seen. He has silver wired spectacles, and a thin hatch of brown hair over a bald spot. If you passed him on the street, you would never look twice at him. 

"Why the concern over the girl?" the doctor asks him. 

He blinks again, trying to think quickly, to cover up his slip. They'll know now, they'll know everything. What he and Natasha have been to each other all these years. And they'll erase her memories again, modify them like they always do. Just like she doesn't remember knowing him as a child now, doesn't know why she implicitly trusts him. Doesn't seem to know what year it is and even how old she is now...

"She's a valuable asset," he hears himself say, the mask of the soldier descending again firmly. "We can't afford to lose her using her as a lab rat for your experiments."  
  
The doctor snorts, disregarding him and looking down at his charts. They wheel Natasha into the operating room. She is clearly already groggy and half conscious, covered in a white sheet. Her face is white and tense, terror splayed across it. She's usually so good at controlling her emotions that is startles him. What have they done to her? 

He looks out the window as they prepare her. Men in white lab coats surround her prone still form, put IVs into her arms. Beeping machinery is wheeled in as she passes out and is stripped naked. He turns away from the window, hoping the doctor doesn't notice. But he realizes now that it is too late, this was the test. They are showing him this to gauge his reaction. He has given everything away. They will put him into cryo freeze permanently now, they will strip his beautiful memories of the blond man and the life he had before he was this monster. Memories he was slowly regaining, each one so precious...

He dimly hears the doctor's words as the man explains the surgery to the Hydra officers who file in to watch, staring at Natasha's naked white form splayed out below them like a slab of meat. Each one stares at her with a face of stone. He wishes he still shared their ability to turn his emotions off at will.  

"Super soldier strength... advanced mobility... healing factor... unfortunate side effect of sterility..."

The men in the room laugh in a grotesque chorus, and his teeth grind together. 

The operation is a success. All they tell Natasha is that they have made her unable to bear children.

When they come for him a few weeks later to put him into cryo freeze, he doesn't struggle. He knows it's the only way to protect her. 

\---

Bucky doesn't see the Hydra agent at first, but he rises out of the fog like a demonic apparition. The bright blue of his energy gun rings out. Bucky tries to protect himself with Steve's shield, but it ricochets with so much force that he is thrown to the outside of the train.   
  
He tries to cling to the side of the train, but they are moving too fast, far too fast, and Steve is reaching out, his blue eyes terrified as Bucky falls and falls and falls...

After that there is only blood and pain in a frozen wasteland. He lays in the crevice of a valley as snow slowly falls around him, nearly burying him before they find him. He is dragged back to a Hydra compound, watching blood trace the progress of his body. 

There is a voice in the darkness:  
  
"Sergeant Barnes... the procedure has already started. You are to be the new fist of Hydra."

There there is nothing but pain, a white scream across his senses. What are they doing to him? He can't forget, he won't forget... 

He can't...

What was it again?

___

There is a wailing siren sound, and bright lights assault his senses.

He struggles against the straps, starts screaming, the millions of secrets he has buried bursting out of him in one long agonized burst.

He slumps backwards, all the fight going out of him. The lights are too bright, his eyes are watering. He gasps for air as the room comes into focus.

An elegant man dressed in a dark red suit stares at him with a worried expression on his face. The man comes closer, his dark eyes peering down at him with empathy and compassion. "My apologies," he tells him. "I know you wished to remain in a cryo state until our scientists learned how to heal your mind. However there were...." he pauses. T'Challa, his name is T'Challa.   
  
James shuts his eyes as images flood his senses, his memories coming into one cohesive whole with a snap. Howard Stark's son, their fight, tearing the arc reactor out of him, his arm... and Steve... oh Steve.

"There were complications," T'Challa finishes. He rests a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder. "We have notified Captain Rogers. He will be arriving shortly." Another pause and Bucky hears the lie in his words. Steve hasn't replied yet, T'Challa simply wants to keep him calm. "I'm arranging for a state room for you in the foreign embassy. You can stay here quite comfortably for the time being. Do not worry, we will take care of you." 

Something lingers in T'Challa's eyes, prompting him to ask: "What else aren't you telling me?"

The other man's eyes flicker to the side. "There were men here. They tried to break into the compound." He laughs. "They were quite unsuccessful naturally."   
  
James's voice sounds raspy and rough, like he's been screaming, and maybe he has. "But they knew I was here."

T'Challa nods, and James shuts his eyes. His words to Steve ring back to him in his ears a thousand times over:

"It always ends in a fight."

 


End file.
